Tag: Poem

वो लम्हे शायद बीत गए

 

किसी ने मुझसे एक दफा मेरी पसंदीदा जगह का नाम पूछा था,

अब कैसे बताऊ मैं उन्हें, कोई जगह तो नहीं है मुझे पसंद।

कही भी रहू मैं, 

शहर बदलते है,

लहरें उठती हैं

या शायद सिर्फ़ कुछ रास्ते ही बदल से जाते हैं।

पर इन्हीं जगहों में मिले वो कुछ लोग,

कुछ लोग जो दिल से जुड़ जाते हैं।

 

स्कूल की वो आखिरी सीट जहां इतनी यादें बनाया करते थे हम,

अब कैसे बताऊं?

वही बेंच है तो आज भी,

पर अब वो यादें कही मिल-सी नहीं रही।

शायद वो यादें भी किसी चेहरे के साथ चली गई।

 

गलियां भी वही,

बस कदम थोड़े थामे हुए है सब।

क्योंकि शायद जिन कदमों के साथ चला करते थे हम,

वो भी किसी नई गली की ओर चल दिए।

 

शहर तो सिर्फ़ एक पर्दा ही है,

असली कहानियां तो लोग ही बताते है शायद।

 

शायद अब मैंने समझ ही लिया,

ये खेल सिर्फ जगहों का नहीं,

इनकी पीछे छुपे हुए उन चेहरों का है,

जो कभी किसी की छुपी रोशनी बने थे!

 

बस थोड़ा ठहर जाना

 

बस थोड़ा ठहर जाना

रुकना नहीं तू मेरे लिए, बस थोड़ा ठहर जाता।

समय को भी थोड़ा सा समय देकर जरूर जाना।

जो तूफान आया था जिंदगी में,

उसे भी शांत करके जाना,

जिंदगी को भी एक आखिरी मौका देके जाना।

रुकना नहीं तू मेरे लिए, बस थोड़ा ठहर जाना।

 

हर अंधेरे को रोशनी की तलाश है,

हर उजाले को बस तेरी ही आस है,

हर आंसू को मुस्कुराहट की ही प्यास है।

 

हर कदम शायद भटक रहा होगा अभी,

मंजिल शायद नहीं मिली होगी कभी।

बस हार न तू मान जाना।

रुकना नहीं तू मेरे लिए, बस थोड़ा ठहर जाना।

 

ये सिर्फ़ वक़्त है, तुम्हारी जिंदगी नहीं,

शायद ये पल भी बीत जाएंगे कभी,

यादें रखी रहेंगी किसी डिब्बे में कहीं,

शायद मेरे दर्द की कहानी सुनाना चाहेंगे सभी।

रुकना नहीं तू मेरे लिए, बस थोड़ा ठहर जाना।

 

समय को थोड़ा समय देकर तो देखना,

वक़्त को ज़रा आज़माकर तो देखना,

जो आज लगता है एक छोटी सी जीत सा,

क्या पता बन जाए कल वो एक त्योहार सा।

रुकना नहीं तू मेरे लिए, बस थोड़ा ठहर जाना।

The sun peeks in through velvet drapes,

The maids glide in, like softened shapes.

As they prepare a wholesome meal with tea,

They talk—I eavesdrop—about

The King’s new legacy.

 

Oh, I wish I were them—

The life beyond the King’s ransom.

While he prepares for war—cannons, guns, and swords—

(For in war, they say, everything’s fair),

I wander the garden, perfumed and still,

Where children laugh and people cheer

But none come near,

Too trained in awe, too taught to fear.

 

I can see the sun go down, the ballroom enhancing,

I can devour the thoughts of the village girls dancing,

Who want to be crowned and switch lives—

But how do I say,

“Likewise”?

समर्पण 

समर्पण जैसे सूर्य का चाँद के प्रति

जैसे शिव और पार्वती 

 

समर्पण जैसे एक माला में दो फूलो की जोड़ी 

जैसे संतरा और आम, खटास और मिठास थोड़ी-थोड़ी 

 

समर्पण जैसे मछली और समुद्र का साथ

जैसे बिन गाने की ना कोई बारात

 

समर्पण जैसे बरखा और बादल

जैसे धड़कन और दिल 

 

कैसे अजीब से हैं यह भाव 

अपने विपरीत से ही क्यों है यह लगाव?

 

Oh to Love

To love is to be the shady spot on a sunny day

Oh to love is to be the calmness when you say

 

To love is to be the sweet smell before the rain

Oh to love is to take away all the pain

 

To love is to be the sun

Oh to love is to let others shine as you burn

 

To love is to be the bones of the body

Oh to love is to let your throat go dry as you be the melody 

 

Through the smooth, through the rough

Is this much love enough?

For I wish to be loved once too

The way I love you.

The Same Moon

 

They’ve all looked at the same moon

A thousand handprints on her earth,

The womb from which the unborn rise

And the tomb in which the dead sleep.

 

The echoes of war cries lost in her air,

The howling rages of the battlefield,

All dying in the stench of bloodshed,

Only to be reborn as her sweet spring flowers

On their graves.

 

From the ashes of the empire,

A mighty city shall rise!

The King’s face etched in stone once more,

Living until doomsday descends all over again,

The empire in ruins, the lineage,

Somewhere, glimmering and breathing.

 

A desolate hallway,

Portraits of the conquerors, the believers,

The inventors, the enlightened,

The reformers, the dreamers,

A cadence of stories,

A single heartbeat,

Bringing life to their sepulchres.

 

The same tree they worshipped,

The Sun they thought God,

The same rivers that once bore carnage of war,

Now a picturesque dream.

Sublime. How Sublime.

 

They prayed to the same sky that never answered,

The same stars, they wished upon,

Lived on the soil of their own kin, the ones they lay waste,

Destroying and creating, bleeding and healing,

Dying and hoping,

Amidst the wasteland, an epiphany blooms,

We’ve all looked at the same moon.

 

Amanda

 

My daydream is my rebellion,

An escapade from the monotony of my own name.

I am not Amanda,

I am a traveler, seeking.

 

A mermaid amidst the languid sea,

A lonesome orphan, bare feet on sweet earth,

A stray, not quite, only belonging to the wind,

The girl running away to the forest every summer

Smelling of mildew and rot.

A lover with not a care in the world,

A poet with dreams unbridled.

 

I am not Amanda, a troublesome girl,

I have walked the Earth,

I have been every person,

Confided in every soul,

Yet, I still go to one of our favourite haunts

By the rocky cliffs,

Drowning out your words, into a melody,

And I scream my throat raw at a God who isn’t listening,

Why have I been everyone, everywhere, at once,

Yet I couldn’t find your love,

The way my thoughts found me?

 

The Yellow Couch

 

There is not one thing you do not have, 

All within arm’s reach, 

So close, it is almost stifling.

Where is there to go, when you could simply

Dissolve thoughts into thin air,

As soon as the television flickers on.

 

It is the only light in your darkened room,

Illuminating your expressionless face,

Every week’s occurrence, now sitting with you, forgotten

On that yellow couch.

 

The channel changes, and the television’s whirring light

Sculpts your face, eliciting laughter, sadness and boredom 

As if you are made of clay.

 

You sit still on that yellow couch,

Feigning life.

What of life? You wanted to visit the falls, the mountains,

The sunsets, go to the land of songbirds,

But then you remember, all the places you’ve already been,

In memory, in time, or maybe it was a television screen.

 

Your eyes are red, the clock is far off,

You forget time and sit on that yellow couch,

You can move no longer, the couch binds you to its very fibre,

Shallow breaths, twitching hands.

Your thoughts have abandoned you, amidst this barren land.

 

The yellow couch now wraps you, encasing you, gently,

And makes a coffin, the most beautiful kind,

A cocoon.

The voices on the television are closer than death.

And then the rueful angels arrive,

To serenade you, when you ascend to the heavens.

They open the cocoon,

Only to find the butterfly within, is dead.

I lie down in the meadow then close my eyes

And when again they open, there is sunrise.

The crown of the grass is adorned with dew,

The crystal clear river flows in my view.

Soothing musical notes beget the serene melody,

The chirping of birds heals me like a remedy.

The dome of the sky is all the way around;

The fragrance of the flowers makes my life sound.

There is the pleasure in the pathless wood which calms the gloom of my tired mood.

The day has eyes, the night has ears,

They sense my soul and wipe my tears.

Every year we journey through four seasons;

Winter, spring, summer and autumn come out of their prisons.

The snow tumbles from the sky, the frosty sparkles begin to fly,

Squirrels and woodchucks go to sleep;

The snowman opens the window to peep.

The nature slowly warms up and the seeds crack open,

Fresh green leaves uncurl, the spring gets woken.

A robin hunts for the worms in the ground; the caterpillars crawl out from their eggs around.

 

The canvas is painted with the colours so arty,

The spring is nature’s way to say “Let’s party!”

The summer knocks and the butterflies flutter,

The grasshoppers, bees and dragonflies clutter.

Apples and plums grow fat and juicy,

The bellflowers remind us of a blue sea.

The autumn dances with the yellow leaves,

The showers of rain wipe away the griefs.

Wheat and barley are the farmers’ harvest,

The creatures store the food for the farthest.

If they ask me about you

 

And when I tell my kids about love, 

I’ll tell them about you.

 

I’ll not speak of the hugs and kisses and roses, 

you flowered over me on Galantines.

I’ll tell them about our late-night talks by the beach

the way your voice after a hectic day bought comfort.

 

I’ll mention that love lives 

in the simple, ordinary efforts. 

Messages when everything felt a bit too much 

Your check-ins on heavy, rainy days. 

How you used to remember stuff I forgot easily. 

And laughed with me when I couldn’t find my smile.

 

I’ll tell them what love can also look like. 

Someone silently giving you a shoulder to cry 

Willing to let the world fall apart, without asking you to hold it all by yourself.

 

I’ll say this love sometimes wears hoodies and enters home without permission,

Texts late at night when you can’t sleep. 

And shows up to watch reels together when skies go grey.

And also, sometimes love isn’t always about wedding or kisses

It can be a person lending a steady hand through all the hardships.

 

Even if they wonder how I learned all this

I’ll whisper your name, 

Telling them about the quiet ways you cared, 

With loyalty stitched into every moment

Leaving the kind of smile only real friendship can leave behind.

 

I walked past my own grave today

 

I walked past my own grave today, leaving emotions in the backseat, 

I sat next to it. 

No flowers, no stone. Thus, no name. 

A dip into the earth, 

Where somebody once lived,  

Now outgrew the need to stay.

 

Millions cried, 

The sky, still stone cold, 

Looked at me, 

As if it knew, it wasn’t a death, 

It wasn’t something to mourn about, maybe just a transcendence. 

 

Beneath me, 

The earth ice cold, held silence, 

Like an old promise somebody once kept.  

It didn’t cry, nor did it kneel. 

It only remembered what it felt to forget someone half-there.

 

Echoes surrounded me, 

Faint voices that once spoke at my place, 

And footsteps I once feared to follow, now reflect back with new light. 

From everything I had beneath the ground, 

Absolutely nothing reached for me. 

None of the ghosts begged to return. Some say it wasn’t a burial, 

It was a release, a quiet crossing, 

From the shadow to something still unfolding.

 

And as I walked further, 

Stepping away, unburdened, 

With air shifting gently, like a breath, 

With the weight less cruel, 

Into a path unfolding its stillness. 

A path where every loss finds its way to bloom.

A heavy rusty saviour,
With a fancy gold handle,
A sharp handy blade,
Waiting to come into action!

Screaming the word danger,
As it swings in the air,
Pierces fear into the foes,
While chopping off heads and toes!

It’s not always a deadly thing,
For it really saves our lives,
It fends off the deadly enemies,
As for failing to do so, Oh please!

When the sword emerges victorious,
The people of the kingdom dance with joy,
“Hail to the fearless sword”
They shout out loud!

Oh my, so many people gathered around me,
Praising my handle as well as my body,
There’s just one thing I want to tell them all,
“Don’t you worry, I’ve got your life!”

She opened her fridge and spilled some milk
The fridge remained ajar, the floor remained dirty
Yet she was frozen, unable to move, stuck in a trance
With her head lost in a daze
As misty memories began to clear up in the horizon of her mind
She was waiting for something
For that familiar voice
Nagging and advising
Telling her to “be careful”, “be responsible”, “clean the mess up”
But also “listen to me” and “it will be okay”
The voice that once clung to her ears now evaporated
The motherly love long gone
Fading like the smell of milk spilled into cold air.

Only Me

I set the table just for three,
Mom, dad, and only me.

No older hand to show me the way,
No younger voice who begs me to stay.

Life may be peaceful and the space is wide,
But there’s room for one more on my side.

No one to blame when things go wrong,
I shall hum my own two-person song.

They joke that I can never share,
But they forget that there’s no one there.

Though I stand alone in line,
Every step I take is always mine…

Among, Not With

I laugh when they laugh, agree when they speak,
I follow them awkwardly like I’m part of the streak.
In the pictures I’m there, but just out of frame,
The ghost of the group, lost in the game.

Their references fly away, I just play along,
Like an echo pretending to know the song.
I smile on their cue, I clap to their beat,
But I’m not the one they’re hoping to meet.

I’m the silence that fills the cracks in their plans,
I am the afterthought, written in half hearted, faint hands.
They say, “We’re all friends,” with a grin so wide,
Yet I walk just beside them, not quite inside.

I’m always the backup plan when others bail,
The name they forget, the friend they fail.
Just a filler seat at a crowded table,
Present, polite, just available.

Not ridiculed, not shunned, just passed by with grace,
The filler that rounds out the friend-shaped space.
I am not part of their plans, not one they applaud,
Just someone they call when they’re feeling odd.

I wonder if they’d notice if I’m gone one day,
Or if I’d just fade in the usual way.
Still I smile, still I stay, still I try,
Hoping one day they’ll ask me why.

Why I feel like the puzzle that doesn’t fit,
Why I am the person they omit.
But don’t you dare think that this is the worst part,
It’s being with people who don’t know your heart.

I asked the girl who rode the Moon, and asked what she had seen,
She answered with a couplet which was poetic like a dream.
She told me about the stormy seas where ships would take their last breath,
She told me about the peaceful stream that flowed from the west.
She told me about the scorching desert where camels ruled the lands,
She told me about the freezing ones with white as the colour of their sands.
She told about the wars infinite which were happening in the world which was ours,
The earth which once was lush and green was now being engulfed by the demon of war.

She told me about the air, grey,
Which covered our planet, which once was happy, healthy, blue-green and gay.
She told me how the Earth looked covered by the shadows of evil:
The planet which once looked bubbly and lively,
Now looked grief-stricken, depressed and full of misery.
She told me how the planet had been, voice dripping with nostalgia:

Glorious creatures roaming the place,
Beautiful birds chirping and dancing with grace.
Alas! The only song heard now, was of violence and disgrace.
She told me about a dream she had seen,
Filled with excitement, she had seemed.
She told me about a peaceful paradise,
Where humans had already opened their eyes.
She asked me to take an oath that day,
To spread the message, she gave.
We need to work hard to save the day,
After all, one in a million is the planet in which we stay.